


Grow Old With Me

by Moransroar



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: HIV/AIDS, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moransroar/pseuds/Moransroar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan lives with HIV.<br/>Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grow Old With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I suggest you listen to Grow Old With Me by Tom Odell, beautiful song, heartbreakingly so.

Things were a bit messy. Jonathan reassured Gethin that it was fine, it was all fine, he just felt a little sick. And he did. It was flu season, which meant that Jonathan had to be extra careful, but it seemed like they had been just a little too late for that. Neither of them worried, because it was unnecessary to worry, they had been through this before.

And after a week or so, Jonathan felt better again.

What little medicine they had helped bring Jonathan’s spirit up a little, and helped him beat his fever. The soup Gethin made helped just as much, or so the blond kept reminding him of. It were these days that were the hardest, simply because everything was so unexpected, but with Jonathan’s disease every single cough is always taken seriously.

 

What Gethin clung onto was the last time Jonathan had made a vow to him. It was on a Saturday night, and they had just went out for a drink at the bar a few blocks down. They had been a little drunk, the alcohol making Gethin giggly and forget about things that might or might not happen. All he had felt was Jonathan’s lips to his neck as they danced slowly, the scent of his boyfriend so close, their bodies warm because of the dancing and the low ceiling in the bar. It might have been a little humid, but why should they have cared?

Afterwards, they had walked home, hand in hand. Neither cared for the people around them, their attention only at one another. They had showered when they had gotten home, washing off the filth and sweat as they stood chest-to-chest. It was a miracle they had a shower with running water, and even though the hot water ran out really quickly, they enjoyed every last minute of it. Jonathan had dried Gethin and himself off directly after, and he had gotten out the thick duvet from their bed to wrap it around the naked man and bring him to the bedroom. There, Gethin had only bothered to put on pants before he fell onto the bed, Jonathan soon joining him in clean pyjamas and pulling the Welshman to his chest.

Neither man had said much, because if it wasn’t necessary to speak, then why should they interrupt such peace with a jumbled mess of drunken words? That was, until they had been safely tucked in, legs tangled and breath fresh, and Jonathan moved his lips to Gethin’s own to form words.

“I want to marry you,” he had said, and Gethin had almost been a little too drunk to really comprehend.

“Oh yeah?” Gethin had chuckled, pulling Jonathan closer still. The latter had nodded and carded his free hand through damp dark locks to attempt and slick it back.

Jonathan had reached for the nightstand and proudly showed Gethin a small golden ring, a little dusty with faded engravings, but it was perfect.

“We can’t get married,” had been Gethin’s protest, but Jonathan had just shaken his head.

“I know, but we can have this.”

The thin band had slid easily onto Gethin’s ring finger, fitting like a glove. The Welshman had not once asked where Jonathan had gotten it from, assuming it was some heritage so he would take good care of it and be extremely careful with the precious item.

“’Till death do us part.”

 

When it seemed like Jonathan was feeling better again, they went on with their usual chores. Jonathan cooked, and Gethin did the washing and the cleaning. It was a sort of daily routine for them, when Gethin was not busy downstairs restacking the bookshelves or helping customers, and Jonathan was not out there somewhere, rehearsing for a play or doing whatever else he loved best. Gethin worried on a daily basis, wondering that if his lover was away whether he was okay or if he needed anything, if he was eating properly.

And vice versa, did Jonathan worry about Gethin. Especially after the time he had landed in hospital because he had gone out on his own, collecting for LGSM. Of course that had been late at night, and of course there had been various reasons why exactly it had happened, but Jonathan wasn’t ready of going through that kind of terror again. And neither was Gethin, naturally.

Jonathan had his ups and downs, considering his health. Some days, he would feel sick and unable to get out of bed, other days he would dance about in the kitchen with music playing in the background, swinging his hips to the sound of Bronski Beat. The blond cooked more often than Gethin did, but when the former fell ill, the Welshman would pick up the spatula for his partner. He wasn’t as magnificent of a cook as his lover, but at least Jonathan had taught him a thing or two.

Sometimes, when Jonathan was being – how Gethin liked to call it – ‘creative in the kitchen’, and the dark-haired man would come upstairs from having closed the shop, he would stand in the doorway to their tiny kitchen and watch how Jonathan manoeuvred around to the sway of a slow song. Gethin loved how the other would roll his head on his shoulders while he almost seemed to move on auto-pilot, eyes closed as he hummed to the music. Gethin sometimes found himself jealous of the man’s skill, but then again this magnificent human being was his, so he had nothing to worry about.  When Jonathan would finally realise that there was someone else there with him in the kitchen, he would always put down whatever he might be holding and go over to his loved one, taking him in his arms and leading him towards the stove.

Gethin would struggle, but only a little because he would be put in front of the stove to stir the pots while Jonathan still moved to the music behind him, holding the smaller man against his chest. With Jonathan’s lips pressed to Gethin’s ear, the Welshman’s hands trembling where they moved the spatula through a mass of curry in one of the pots, everything was magnificent.

Gethin had never fel so lucky and loved as he was when he was with Jonathan.

After the last Pride in the city centre, things had been looking really great for them. The bond they shared had grown despite the difficulties they had come across, and as soon as Gethin had been fired from hospital, their relationship had been more loving than ever.

Things like this occurred frequently. Sudden small kisses, touches of a hand in public areas, brief eye contact during another meeting of LGSM. A flustered look on Gethin’s part, and a fond grin on Jonathan’s.

And just when things started to look up for them, Jonathan got sick again.

Of course, this was to be expected what with the stage of illness the blond was in, yet still neither of them were able to anticipate something like this. It always came unexpectedly, much to both the men’s dismay. They had learned not to think too much of it, because they had visited the hospital before, and sometimes they had to take Jonathan in for a day or two, but they would always walk out together, strong as ever.

 

Jonathan was in hospital again. Gethin blamed himself. He had pushed Jonathan too hard when it came to the progress of LGSM, and taking all the trips to Dulais had finally taken its toll on the tall blond. Jonathan had gone sick more often than not in the few weeks before another one of those hospital visits, and Gethin found himself worrying sick. The doctor told them that it was good that they had taken the time to have Jonathan checked, because now they could admit him to the ward and let him rest a bit.

Gethin never left Jonathan’s side, only when there were other visitors did he quickly sneak out to get a bite to eat. Despite the food Jonathan got in hospital, it seemed like he was thinning out a bit.

“You have to eat,” Gethin said as he sat by the bed, book in his lap.

Jonathan looked over the tray of food that had been placed in his lap, but he simply couldn’t bring up the correct amount of appetite to finish more than a few bites of the ham sandwich.

“I’m just not hungry love, maybe in a bit.”

Gethin fell silent, glancing down at his book as if he were reading the words on the pages while he was in fact building up the courage of saying what he wanted. And when he did, his voice was soft, barely audibly, and almost said through fear-clenched teeth, “You always say that.”

 

The doctors did their tests, and Gethin did his duty by holding Jonathan’s hand through most of it, being offered vile looks by some of the doctors, but others were tolerant of their relationship. It was based on nothing but love, after all, so they just had to either accept it or leave them alone.

Surprisingly, nothing new came from the tests, and so the doctor gave them a date on which Jonathan would be able to go home again. Six days, and then they would be dismissed. Six days and six nights, and they would be able to cuddle up together in their own bed.

That was what Gethin missed most during these hospital stays, the nights they normally spent together. Normally, they would shower together after a long day of work, and would slip between the sheets still warm with damp skin, flushed from the heat. They would face one another, Gethin’s legs tucked up to his chest, his cold toes pressed to Jonathan’s thighs to keep them warm. Nobody’s arms around him had ever felt as safe as Jonathan’s did, and after a few muttered words of comfort and affection, the Welshman would be fast asleep in the arms of the man of his dreams.

 

The nights at the hospital were rather cold, and mostly lonely. Jonathan needed as much sleep as he could possibly get, so if he didn’t sleep somewhere through the day, he slept like an absolute rock through the entire night, exhausted as things made him. Night was a time for Gethin to ponder and contemplate all the things that had occurred throughout the days that had gone by, and make a sort of prediction of what would happen once they were to get home.

Some nights, when all was silent and dark, the only light in the room being the slight moonlight that peeked through the drapes, the only sound Jonathan’s soft breathing, Gethin panicked. Silently, of course, because he didn’t want to wake his lover, but he was terrified of the things that might happen. He overthought a lot, resulting in the worst of images flooding his mind. That things would not be okay.

 

And two days later, Jonathan saw the palest shade of skin Gethin had ever seen.

 

“You said the tests had come out negative,” Gethin hissed to one of the doctors, standing outside Jonathan’s private room.

“They have, they have,” the doctor said, “But we could run some more, just in case. IF that would bring any peace to your state of mind.”

Gethin gritted his teeth but nodded, anxiously fidgeting with his fingers.

Going back into the room, Jonathan lay limply against the pillows stashed behind his back, giving Gethin a meek smile and tapping his fingers to show him that he wanted to hold his hand. Gethin went over to his side, resumed his seat beside the love of his life, and took his hand to press a soft kiss to it.

“What’d doc say?” Jonathan murmured through his sleepy, dizzy haze, brushing his thumb over the back of Gethin’s hand.

“That you’ll be alright. They’re gonna run another few tests, but everything should be fine.”

Jonathan blinked slowly, and turned his head again to look up at the ceiling with a hum.

“How are you feeling?” Gethin asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“In pain,” said the blond with a soft huff of a sigh.

 

Gethin held Jonathan’s hand still, just talking to his lover when the other was half asleep and unable to even murmur back. Jonathan was so tired, constantly, and the doctors said that he would have to stay for a few nights more. That didn’t surprise Gethin, because with what state his partner was in, he wouldn’t take the risk.

Never before had Gethin been as scared as he was in that week, unable to sleep, just wanting to watch Jonathan in case something was wrong. When the other was awake, he would sleep a little. Just a few minutes at a time. When there were visitors, Steph or Joe, or even Sian, they would put Gethin in a chair and get him to sleep for a little while. They all took care of Jonathan, made sure the man was never alone.

And they never gave up hope, because why would they?

 

“’M just tired, Geth,” Jonathan murmured on a cold evening in March, extra thick blankets hiding the bone-y limbs beneath, the weak muscle.

Gethin hadn’t cried until then, despite being on the verge of tears numerous times. But Jonathan refusing to believe that he was going downhill broke the carefully composed dam, and broke him.

“I know, love,” Gethin nodded and pressed his lips to the other’s sharp knuckles, being careful that no tears would reach Jonathan’s skin, the darkness being the only thing that hid the wetness on his cheeks from sight.

“I love you, so very much.”

Gethin shook, tears silently dragging down his cheeks, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth to keep himself from sobbing audibly. He didn’t want to upset Jonathan with his crying.

“Just go to sleep, doofus,” the dark-haired man insisted softly, looking down at their joined hands.

Jonathan’s thumb moved over the thin golden band around his ring finger, and Gethin could see a faint smile on his features through the dimness of the room. Slowly but surely, as the thumb stopped moving, Gethin knew that his lover was asleep, vast, still.

 

And the next morning he was gone.

 

Test results came in, positive. They had been wrong, every doctor that had checked him over had been wrong. Gethin wanted to scream, to shout at them for fucking up, for ruining his life, but he was too tired to even be able to get up from his chair, and leave Jonathan’s side.

 

People visited, and Jonathan looked beautiful.

He had sought out a beautiful little spot on the cemetery just outside Jonathan’s hometown, a perfect little field of green grass and yellow flowers, something uplifting for Gethin to visit.

 

The first time he visited was about a week after, the golden band still around his finger. It would never leave its rightful place, or so he had promised Jonathan. But what use was it to him when the person who is originally belonged to didn’t belong to Gethin anymore, but to the ground. After all, the promise was broken, and there was nothing to do about that anymore.

Gethin sat down on the damp patch of grass in front of the headstone, a significantly big chunk of rough looking stone with neatly carved letters in them, a name Gethin loved so dearly.

Jonathan Blake

Son, lover

Husband

Gethin swallowed and immediately reached for his ring, pressing his fingers to it as if it would bring the other back. Throat dry, lips chapped, and stomach empty, the dark-haired man leaned against the cold stone and sighed, not caring about how his trousers slowly soaked and how his feet were cold.

He realised that he might never have warm feet again.

“You were right,” he murmured, ghosting his fingertips across the marginally rough surface of the grey stone, pressing into the letters, seeking out a non-existent pulse.

 

“’Till death do us part.” 

**Author's Note:**

> According to all the articles on HIV/AIDS which I have read, there are three known stages of HIV. You have accute infection, in which you have frequent periods of illness which can be described as 'worst flu ever', and large amount of the virus are produced in this stage. Then you have the second stage, clinical latency, where HIV reproduces very slowly but it still keeps going, and there are almost no symptoms. If you do not take good enough care of yourself in this stage, you can go into the final stage, AIDS. Someone with AIDS without treatment can normally live about 3 years, but in some cases the 'attack' is so accute that the person can pass within a few weeks or even days. I hope this clarifies some questions you might or might not have. If anyone spots a mistake in this description, please inform me, I might have been wrong about the sources I have used.


End file.
